


Bouncing

by oxymoron



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-13
Updated: 2007-03-13
Packaged: 2019-01-19 12:37:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12410454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxymoron/pseuds/oxymoron
Summary: "What about you, Neville?" said Ron. "Well, my gran brought me up, and she’s a witch," said Neville, “but the family thought I was all Muggle for ages. My great-uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me, but nothing happened until I was eight..."





	Bouncing

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016.

****************  


_"What about you, Neville?“ said Ron._

_“Well, my gran brought me up, and she’s a witch,” said Neville, “but the family thought I was all Muggle for ages. My great-uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me – he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned – but nothing happened until I was eight. Great-uncle Algie came round for tea and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my great-auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced – all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased. Gran was crying, she was so happy.”_

_(Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone)_

****************

"Do you want some more meringue, Nevie-dear?“ 

His mouth filled with cake, Neville simply shook his head. One more piece and he would burst! 

Great-auntie Enid looked sceptical. “Are you sure, Nevie? Boys of your age need plenty of nourishing food, I don’t like your looks…” 

He felt the urge to burst out laughing and spray the contents of his mouth over the coffee table. Only by employing all of his self-control he was able to keep his mouth closed. His eyes started to water. If he had an unhealthy look, it was due to the fact that he had eaten too much for his own good. He was sure that by now he had a closer resemblance to an oversized quaffle than to an eight year old.

“Nonsense, Enid! The boy has eaten more than enough. Stop spoiling him. And Neville,” his grandmother addressed him, a stern look on her face, “remember to be polite and say ‘no, thank you’ when you decline an offer!” 

Neville managed to chew, swallow, and mumble “Sorry, gran”. She scowled at him for one last time before she turned and went on discussing the recent ministry decree regulating the ownership of magical creatures with great-uncle Algie. 

Neville leant back and relaxed. He both dreaded and looked forward to the bi-weekly tea parties with his great-aunt and uncle. On the one hand, there was the wonderful cake great-auntie Enid would bring along, and the knut she was bound to give to him when gran wasn’t looking, and there were great-uncle Algie’s stories about the time when he was young, fighting dragons, killing giants, and taming unicorns. Neville sometimes wondered whether great-uncle Algie really had fought werewolves single-handedly in his youth, but most of the time, he didn’t want to know, the stories were too good to be tainted by reality.

On the other hand, he had to wear his best robes, be extra polite and listen to his grandmother discussing politics with great-uncle Algie and baking charms with great-auntie Enid. Gran would be even stricter than usual, great-auntie Enid would fuss over him as if he was still three, and great-uncle Algie would try to trick some magic out of him. The latter was the worst part of these tea parties. By now, Neville was convinced of being a squib, and he was sure that the adults all privately, secretly, thought the same. Nevertheless, each fortnight Neville suffered fear of death and humiliation. 

So far, today had been going rather well. It was a nice summer afternoon, they were sitting on the veranda overlooking the garden, great-aunt Enid’s cakes had been particularly good, he had got his knut, gran was in a good mood and great-uncle Algie had promised him a story about his adventures with a herd of hippogriffs.

His great-uncle’s voice called him from his musings. Obviously, he and gran had finished their discussion. “Neville my lad, why don’t you come upstairs with me and listen to some stories, eh? Let the women discuss their household stuff, we shall have an adventure!” Neville nodded and quickly got up, glad to escape great-auntie Enid before she could place more meringue on his plate. He followed his great-uncle up the stairs, into the living room. Algie took a seat in one of the armchairs next to a the window overlooking the garden. Neville occupied the other armchair and listened eagerly as his great-uncle began to talk.

The story was breathtaking. Neville anxiously leant forward, drinking in every word. “And then,” great-uncle Algie said, his voice rising triumphantly, “I grabbed its wing and hauled myself onto its back!” He stood up to demonstrate the movement. His arms whirled through the air, Neville squeaked in excitement – and then, great-uncle Algie took a step closer, grabbed Neville, pulled him out of his seat, up into the air and hung him out the open window by the ankles! Neville screamed. He was afraid of heights. ‘Why, _why_ have you taken a seat next to great-uncle Algie and an open window? Don’t you know _anything_?’ he asked himself furiously. 

“Stop screaming Neville my lad!” great-uncle Algie called merrily. “Come on, just concentrate on freeing yourself from my grip! I know you can do it! You’ve got it in you! You may hurt me, if you want to! Just think of how I wrestled that hippogriff.”

Neville did not listen. He screamed on, until his throat ached and he had to stop. 

“Ah, now, see? That’s better. You know, I do this for your own good, Neville. Don’t you want to go to Hogwarts? Don’t you want to become a hero, like your great-uncle and your daddy? So be a good boy and do some magic!” Neville choked. Of course, great-uncle Algie _had_ to bring his dad into this. His dad, who had been so talented. His dad, who was a war hero. His dad, who was in hospital. His dad, who was incurably ill. His dad, who didn’t even know him. Hanging out of the window, upside-down, mortally afraid and hoarse from too much screaming, Neville wished, neither for the first nor the last time, to be just a normal wizard child, with normal parents, normal abilities, and a normal great-uncle.

They seemed to have reached an impasse. Great-uncle Algie would not pull him in and Neville would not – could not – use magic to force him to. Neville heard steps coming up the stairs. He did not get his hopes up – gran would not be willing and great-auntie Enid would not be able to free him. The steps moved closer to the window. 

“Oh Algie!”So it was great-auntie Enid.

“Won’t you let him be?”

“You know I do this for him.”

She sighed. “Oh, well, will you at least have another meringue?”

“Oh, sure!”

And the next things Neville noticed were the loosened grip around his ankles and the ground, that approached at an astonishing pace.

He wanted to start screaming again, but couldn’t. He closed his eyes, desperately hoping something, _anything_ , would save him. “I wish I really was a quaffle,” he thought, “then I’d just bounce…”. He hit the ground.

Strangely, it did not hurt. Maybe it didn’t, when you died. He felt like floating up again… Was this also part of dying? Down again. Ground. Up again – _what was happening to him_? Hesitantly, he opened his eyes. He was up in the air. He was flying up! And then, for a fraction of a second – although it felt like quite a long time to him – he stood still in mid-air, his stomach turned, and he fell down again. “I’m going to be sick, bouncing up and down like that, after all the cake I’ve eaten,” was all he could think. Up and down, up and down he bounced, like a rubber ball, through the whole of the garden. Finally, the bounces grew smaller and smaller, until he rolled down the sidewalk and stopped in the middle of the road. It was like waking from a vivid dream, or rising from under water to above the surface again: While he was sitting up on the pavement, shaking his dizzy head, the world around him sprang back to life, its sounds and movements clashing and rolling over him like waves. 

Quick footsteps. High voices, calling, laughing, crying. His grandmother, who threw her arms around him and sobbed helplessly. “Oh Neville, you can do it! Oh, I was so afraid of you! Neville, you are a wizard!”

That one sentence rung in his ears. Neville, you are a wizard. He had done it. He had done magic. It had worked. He, Neville Longbottom, was officially magical. Like great-uncle Algie. Like gran. Like his dad. He would go to Hogwarts. He would get a wand. He would make them proud. In fact, he realized as he looked at gran and saw the gleam in her eyes, he already had. 

“Oh Neville. We have to celebrate this!” 

Only when he was back in the house and had drunk a huge cup of cocoa great-auntie Enid had conjured did he realize what was in for him: This was his Magical Me Day. They would celebrate. He would make his first trip by Floo Powder. He would get presents. Magical presents!

Proving you were magical meant access to all kinds of magical stuff. Most magical artefacts, plants, and potions for everyday use could harm Muggles and squibs, so even wizard children were usually not allowed to handle them until it was clear they had inherited their parents’ magical talent. Muggles who used Floo Powder would never be able to exit at a fireplace. They would be stuck in the Floo Network forever (or at least until someone noticed and notified the ministry). Brooms would either not get off the ground (the lucky case), or they would shoot straight towards the sky and then try to buck off the poor fellow on top of them (the unlucky case).

“Can I get a broom, gran?” For Neville, it was not really a question. All children got their first broom when they did their first real bit of magic (given they were already able to walk). It was a traditional gift. But to Neville’s dismay, his grandmother looked doubtful. 

“Oh, Neville, I don’t know, I do not think you are old enough for a broom.”

Neville scoffed. He was several years older than most children were when they got a broom, and he knew it. After all, great-uncle Algie had terrorised him these four years at least. 

“Now, Neville, please do not fret. You will get a present, I promise.” 

Neville knew from experience that there was no use in arguing further. 

“What kind of present?”

“Oh, you will see. I have something in mind…”

That really confused Neville. She was always so strict, so direct, so exact, so matter-of-fact. And yet, today she had cried, and cuddled him, and now she had that _look_. What had happened to her? ‘Just watch it,’ he thought, ‘next, she’ll give me a wet kiss and fuss over me like great-auntie Enid.’ The mental image made him chuckle. 

“I do not know what amuses you like this, Neville, but I guess you should stop daydreaming now and get changed for our trip. There are grass marks all over your clothes!” 

“So we _will_ floo somewhere, won’t we?” At least he wanted to be granted this tradition. “Where do we go?”

“London. Now stop badgering me and hurry!”

Neville obediently got up and sighed in relieve. That was his gran, all right!

When he came back to the kitchen, the three adults all stood in front of the fireplace and looked at him expectantly.

“Now, Neville, we will go to Diagon Alley. Great-uncle Algie will go first, and you follow right behind. Be sure to speak distinctly and do not get ash into you mouth. And do not get out until you can see your great-uncle!”

Neville felt slightly nervous as he watched his great-uncle throw some powder into the flames. Great-auntie Enid’s encouraging remarks somehow did not help either. Algie stepped into the flames and vanished. Neville gulped and took a big step. The sensation of the warm flames tickling his legs was not unpleasant. He carefully opened his mouth and said the correct address, loudly and slowly. At once, his body started to spin, there was a lurch in his stomach, he tumbled, fell, saw fireplaces and grates passing by, and at once he slowed, he saw his great-uncle, and made a quick step onto the hearthrug in front of him. He swayed, but did not fall. He had succeeded. Beaming widely, Neville stepped next to his great-uncle who was already complimenting him. 

Neville had been to London before, to visit his parents, but he had scarcely seen any places except for St Mungo’s and some boring shops in Diagon Alley. This time, they explored places all over the city. They went to every shop in Diagon Alley Neville chose. They visited the British Museum of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where he stood in awe in front of Merlin’s staff until great-auntie Enid told him it was only a replica. They went to the Ministry of Magic so that Neville could throw a knut into the Fountain of Magical Brethren and secretly wish that he was magical enough to go to Hogwarts. They went to a circus, where they had tamed hippogriffs and manticores, and a wizard who had specialised in illusion charms, and wonderful cotton candy that lasted a lot longer than it should have. In the evening, they had a wonderful dinner, at a fancy restaurant, were Neville had to laugh at the waiter because nobody had ever bowed to him before, which led to quite a dressing down from his grandmother.

And of course, he had got his present. It was … well, he still didn’t know exactly what it was, or would become. Right know, it was a box full of seeds. Neville loved gardening, and caring for all kinds of flowers and plants. He understood them. He knew what they needed. In a sense, they were very reliable friends. And you couldn’t fall off them, so they probably were a better present for him than a broom. The whole day through, he would stroke the box at times, marvelling over what would grow out of its contents. There had been such amazing plants in “Shrubb & Shrubb’s Most Magnificent Magical Plants” where they had bought it. Sitting at the dinner table, his box on his knees, Neville smiled. Gran did know him well.

Later, very late in the evening, he sat at his mother’s bed. Alice and Frank Longbottom both watched the small, slightly chubby boy who was placed in front of them, talking enthusiastically. An observer might have noticed the void look on their faces, and wondered whether they were truly listening, or whether they understood what they heard. But Neville did not notice, did not wonder, did not care. He wanted to share this with them. After all, they had given the magic to him. Yes, it was theirs. Their magic. It was not lost. He had preserved it. And now, now that it had shown itself, now that it had come out of its hiding, now all would be right, right?

 

**Author's Note:**

> Original end notes:
> 
> Whoohoo! I won the Cheering Charm category for this! 
> 
> Ahem, well, I'm proud of it... 
> 
> Hope you like it. 
> 
> :-)


End file.
